


Cypher: A Story in Three Parts

by trixie_moon



Series: Shuffle Challenge [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Based on a BTS song, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jirou is a racer, Misha is a doctor, Post-Canon, Sachi had a v shitty ex, Sachi is a lawyer, Song Lyrics, Song: BTS Cypher 4 (BTS)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixie_moon/pseuds/trixie_moon
Summary: “I love, I love, I love myself,”“I love, I love, I love myself,”“I know, I know, I know myself,”“Ya, playa haters you should love yourself,”“Brr!”--The boys, Sachi, Misha, and Jirou, deal with their haters.
Series: Shuffle Challenge [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858168
Kudos: 15
Collections: Creative Chaos Discord Recs





	Cypher: A Story in Three Parts

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this! Sachi has RM's part, Misha has J-Hope's part, and Jirou has Suga's part.

_“Name? Name?”_

_“Sorry, bae,”_

_“Pronunciation? Pronunciation?”_

_“Sorry, bae,”_

_“Diction, diction, diction!”_

_“Sorry, bae,”_

_“Oh, face not an idol,”_

_“Sorry bae,”_

* * *

Because he was breathing, she made him sorry. Because he was too healthy, she made him sorry. But that wasn’t really the truth. Just because he didn’t have an asthma attack every five seconds of P.E. didn’t mean he couldn’t breathe other times. Like when she and he would get in her bed and she’d have her way and she wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t _stop_ no matter how many times he asked her to stop, _stop,_ just listen. 

It was just her way of controlling him, though. _She_ had encouraged everyone that had teased and given him strange looks, calling him “ghost” because of his shining silver hair, his weird brown eyes, constantly squinted because he couldn’t see the board from the back of the classroom. 

The sound he made now, it sounded like a dog’s bark to her as she kept hitting him. But he didn’t fold.

“Sorry, bae,” he said, raising his hands in a placating manner, “But how about you change your pattern of talking shit about others, bae? It’s about to get boring, boring,”

“Shut up!” she screamed. 

He blacked out.

  
  


_I’m not hateful of you anymore. I’m not hateful of you anymore._

_Sorry, bae,_

_Kuroo Sachi_

He was her drum. Her drum to hit hard, like that _salmunori_ she loved to listen to. She called him a monster with that black tail that was too long, and he took that from her, ran with it, and became the Demon of Nekoma. 

He liked it. 

She’d shoot him anyways, he knew that. That was just how Takahara Sara worked. But Sachi often thought a zoo, for all its invasiveness, would be preferential to receiving any more of her abuse. She wanted it too, something she could chew on and watch and watch and watch and not at all feel bad for what she’d do.

She hated him, but she knew him.

Sachi hummed. He liked being hated more than being unknown.

* * *

“ _I love, I love, I love myself,”_

“ _I love, I love, I love myself,”_

_“I know, I know, I know myself,”_

_“Ya, playa haters you should love yourself,”_

_“Brr!”_

* * *

Misha wanted to get sleep time. Without a chance to rest, he wasn't getting it, just receiving spotlights. His Papa might be a model, but he didn’t enjoy that sort of life. He was much happier to study medical texts to become a doctor. Preferably a pediatrician, if he was being honest.

Often, he’d engage in people’s rude and cold comments with a sarcastic, “Oh, you wanna be my life?” 

Because he knew they didn’t. Those who were starving for attention, they were his human shield from these comments, not that he minded. Softly contacted and got spammed on Misha’s own accord. Hauled to the stage of attention, all innocents, okay?

But Misha couldn’t be satisfied just being there. He was climbing up there. High, high, high. 

That’s right, his method was different. He took on the road no matter what stood in his way. 

Exams.

Strangers.

Haters.

Sewing stitch by stitch, if he wasn’t able, he’d put an end to it. For him, there was no possibility of pronouncing “failure”. He simply couldn’t say it. He loved his rule though, the work he did with his “bros” as Kaito called them. Players in a league above their own, he’d become the supervisor above all of them. 

So come what may.

He wouldn’t give up. Following his successes as a med student, he’d draw a bigger picture, become better. But his detractors would continue screaming from that position, their dream come true, for honor and wealth that wasn’t “you”, wherever that strange thing meant. Misha didn’t mind. 

Everyone kissed his feet after all.

_Click_. He was a cat, everyone else was his mouse. They’d all follow him around, he’d mark those he liked with an X like KAWS, and next year, when he moved into his new house, he’d high five with his brick those that didn’t open their eyes and see his ambition. He proved them wrong.

_Lean in with your ears and listen._

* * *

“ _I love, I love, I love myself,”_

“ _I love, I love, I love myself,”_

_“I know, I know, I know myself,”_

_“Ya, playa haters you should love yourself,”_

_“Brr!”_

* * *

“Back, back to the basic, microphone check,” said Jirou lazily at his first interview, “Call me a crow tit, or a badass! Yes, in this rap game I’m the generous one to rehabilitate the rap man who began to slack is my first plan, hashtag!”

Suckers had better run from Nawagata Jirou and his gang. That was their life. His life was just day by day.

Payday.

Paycheck.

Rolex on his wrist.

Click, clang, to the bang bang. Click, clack to the pow.

He was so high, how dare they covet him. Even if they ran up to it, it was too high to reach. _He_ was too high to reach. The brunet boy was one of the biggest racing stars of the recent decade after all. 

“The difference is pretty big, you can’t see it,” he said. Especially after shattering their delusions about their shitty cars, with how he’d won his race without even picking up a fancy model, just his usual Mazda MX-5. He was just toying with them. 

The flies above the corpses that they became, he didn’t care, they were no longer in his way. 

_Click, clack to the bang, you and you._

He was always thankful for not earning everything so easily. His career, both in volleyball and racing, hadn’t come so easily to him. “Why is it my fault your life is so noncommittal?” he liked to ask his opponents. “If you keep on living like that vaguely,”

He shrugged. “Sorry, but continue to look because I’m gonna warm more from now. So, by all means, please live healthily,”

He bowed.

* * *

“ _I love, I love, I love myself,”_

“ _I love, I love, I love myself,”_

_“I know, I know, I know myself,”_

_“Ya, playa haters you should love yourself,”_

_“Brr!”_

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes
> 
> "Baepsae" is a crow-tit, there is a Korean idiom about the baepsae (with short legs) trying to walk like a stork (with long legs). Basically, the baepsae is being a try-hard.
> 
> "Salmunori" is Korean percussive music with drums


End file.
